


Scheduled Maintenance

by thatmasquedgirl



Series: Hardwired [5]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Lunar Chronicles - Marissa Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cyborg, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Cyborgs, F/M, Fluff, Graphic depictions of cyborg wiring, Olicity Hiatus Fic-A-Thon, Olicity Hiatus Fic-A-Thon 2018, One Shot, POV Oliver Queen, Science Fiction, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 09:07:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15457956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatmasquedgirl/pseuds/thatmasquedgirl
Summary: Oliver and Felicity get to know one another a little better.More Hardwired, now with 100% more Tommy Merlyn.Written for TheBookJumper's Olicity Hiatus Fic-A-Thon 2018.  Prompt:  Unfinished.





	Scheduled Maintenance

**Author's Note:**

> I know I missed last week's prompt, but I'm working on it. I just wanted to get this one posted first.
> 
> Sorry things have been so hectic in my posting schedule (or lack thereof). Things have been pretty horrible at work, compounded by trying to get rabies vaccinations for school. I apologize for my general lack of presence online. I hope that changes soon.
> 
> As always, y'all are amazing for sticking with me. Thank you so much for reading! :)

Oliver awakens in an instant, bolting upright. He expects to see the cold, block walls of Verdant or the ornate, nondescript walls of his room at the manor. Instead, he’s met with soft, blue walls with peeling paint and a poster advertising a movie he doesn’t recognize. A holo-vid system stands on a shelf next to an empty space for projection. The couch he lies on is teal, and a warm, soft blanket is draped over him.

Felicity.

It all comes flooding back to him then: she knows. She figured out he’s the Arrow, and she didn’t even flinch. His best friend since childhood had taken time to accept it, and even now he doesn’t _like_ it. But Felicity didn’t even hesitate.

Instead, she just invited him to spend the night on her sofa. If he had known how small her sofa was, he might have refused. Maybe it’s a good thing he _didn’t_ , since it was easily the best night of sleep he’s had since _The Queen’s Gambit_ sank.

Stretching, he looks around the room. His hood and pants are neatly folded in a black bag next to the coffee table, his bow and quiver next to them. The civilian clothes he packed are now on top of the coffee table. A round paperweight with a circuit board design in it holds a blue sticky note in place.

The corner of his mouth lifts up as he moves the paperweight. In very precise handwriting, she has written, _Downstairs working on some things. There’s a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen._

Ignoring the offer for coffee, he grabs his clothes and takes them into the bathroom. After changing clothes, he takes the stairs down to Felicity’s shop. It’s still quiet at this early hour; the doors are still locked, and the lobby is dark. He turns toward the door to her workshop, the lights faintly flickering.

The eerie silence makes him jump when it’s interrupted by his cell phone. No, not cell phone—portcom. Technology left him behind while he was on the island. Frowning, he checks the device. _Going by Mona’s for breakfast_ , Tommy says in a text. _Want anything?_

Oliver smiles. The old diner is just a block from Verdant, the nightclub the two of them started in the remnants of his family’s steel factory. When they were kids, Oliver’s father used to take them for lunch when he had to visit the factory. Now that Queen Industries is gone, Mona’s still does a steady business in breakfast for clubgoers trying to sober up over coffee and eggs.

Before answering, Oliver pushes open the door to Felicity’s workshop. He can barely see anything over stacks of parts and half-finished projects. He’s about to call her name when he hears a grunt and a mechanical click from the back. He goes to it.

When he gets there, Felicity is sitting in an old wingback chair that has seen better days. He didn’t realize she owned any dresses that weren’t for formal occasions, but she’s in a sleeveless dress with a flared skirt. It’s black, with bright pink polka dots that match her lipstick. She wears pink heels, but kicks her left foot out of its shoe.

Focused only on her work, she doesn’t seem to notice him standing there. Her eyes are only on her left leg, tongue poking out as she concentrates on it. She hikes the left side of her dress around her hip before jerking her cybernetic leg from its attachment point.

Their eyes meet when she looks up.

Instantly, Oliver turns to face the opposite direction. His face burns with the heat of being caught; there’s no telling what she thinks of him now. He should have looked away when he had the chance, but he was too curious.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Felicity says, her voice a little fluttery. “I forgot you move like a damn ghost. Sorry I’m a little… _unfinished_ in here.”

“I didn’t mean to—” he rushes to start, his voice an octave higher than normal.

“You don’t have to turn around,” Felicity assures him with a laugh in her voice. Tentative, he turns to find her biting back a smile and smoothing down her skirt. Her nose is scrunched, making a face of embarrassment. “I was just, um, doing some maintenance on my leg.” She drapes the mechanical leg over her lap. “Did you get yourself a cup of coffee?”

Shifting in place, Oliver decides to sit on the shop stool across from her. It wobbles under him. “No, but thank you for offering,” he replies. He crosses his arms. “Ever since I came home, caffeine gives me headaches. I have trouble with sugar, too.”

Felicity bites on her bottom lip. “I’ll have to get some decaf cups,” she decides. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you this morning, though.”

Oliver props his feet on the wooden rung at the bottom of the stool. “That’s actually what I came to talk to you about,” he admits. “My friend Tommy is ordering breakfast at a diner a few blocks away. I thought I might have him pick me up.” While he can walk twenty miles back home, something tells her even attempting to suggest that will upset her. “Do you want anything?”

She shakes her head and opens her mouth to speak, but her stomach grumbles. Felicity sighs. “I’ll take a plate of scrambled eggs with hash browns on the side,” she decides, “and coffee with lots of sugar and creamer.” They share a smile. “No pork, though—not kosher.”

Oliver blinks twice; he didn’t realize she was Jewish. He makes a special note to look up when Hanukkah starts; December is just a couple months away.

With a nod, he sends a text to Tommy: _I’m with a friend. Care to pick up food for both of us?_ It’s barely two seconds later when he gets the affirmative reply. Oliver texts back their orders and the shop’s location.

Felicity looks up at him, halting her work on her leg. “Is your friend going to freak out because I’m a cyborg?” she asks, the smile leaving her face.

“I hope not,” Oliver replies honestly. “Tommy and I have been friends since we were kids. He knows how I spend my nights.” He frowns. “I’d hate for this to be the thing that ruins our friendship.”

Rolling her eyes, she asks, “You do realize that most humans don’t like cyborgs, right?”

Something about the way she refers to non-modified people as _humans_ doesn’t sit right with him. “That’s because they don’t take the time to know you,” Oliver points out.

Though she smiles, she doesn’t say anything. Oliver shifts, and the stool creaks under him. “What are you doing there?” he asks her in a gentle tone.

Using a spray in the knee joint, she replies, “Routine maintenance.” Felicity looks down at the prosthesis. “About once a month, I detach my cybernetic attachments. Clean the joints, repair any faulty wiring, recalibrate if necessary.”

His eyebrows knit together. “I didn’t realize you had to do that.”

When Felicity looks away and goes quiet, Oliver realizes he might have offended her some how. He clears his throat. “When I was on the island…” he starts slowly. She stops her work, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I wasn’t alone. One of the people who helped me had modifications. He never did any maintenance.”

It’s a long moment before Felicity speaks, her mouth falling open slightly. He’s never talked about the island to anyone before, but Oliver decides he’s glad it was her. She seems to understand the weight of it.

He half expects her to ask, but she simply turns back to her work, using a solvent spray to clean the limb. “Most cyborgs don’t care for mods like this,” she admits. “Technically, I don’t _have_ to now—mods are designed to be maintenance-free. They last a lot longer if I do, though.” She waves a hand. “Limbs usually stay clean with regular showering.”

“It wasn’t a limb,” Oliver explains. The words come easier this time, probably because she didn’t beg him for more details. “Slade had a prosthetic eye.”

“Oh, well, that explains it,” she replies. Felicity stops working, using her hands to gesture. “Synthetic eyes usually have some sort of stainless steel or titanium socket they sit in. The cheaper models don’t detach from the socket. They degrade faster because of it.” She offers a half-smile. “And I bet your friend Slade was more concerned about staying alive.”

She shakes her head with a laugh as she oils the knee joint. “It’s weird how well you’re taking this,” she admits, placing a hand to her head. She smears a streak of oil across her forehead in the process, and Oliver can’t help but smile.

“I’ve never done anything like this in front of a human before.” There it is again: _human_ , not _non-mod_. “Most of them don’t even want to be in the same room with me. If I cleaned my cybernetic leg in front of them, they’d probably riot.”

“I grew up with modified humans,” Oliver points out. “With the clean rooms in the house, there were people with mechanical parts in the house every day.” His head tilts to the side. “And they were just people.” He shrugs. “And you were oddly calm about the fact that I spend my nights under the hood.”

“How could I be upset about that?” Felicity asks, a furrow forming in her brow. “Everything you’ve done in this city has helped cyborgs in one way or another.” Her hands still. “Except John Nickel.”

The name automatically makes Oliver frown. “He deserved more than to lose a few million dollars,” he says, his voice turning dark, even to his own ears. Felicity jumps at the quality of it, and he grimaces. “His negligence cost you more than that.” Sighing, he forces himself to soften his tone. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you,” he admits in a gentler tone, “but that experience made you into the person you are today.” He smiles. “And I think she’s remarkable.”

Her nose scrunches up, but a soft smile plays on her lips. “Thank you for remarking on it,” she teases, testing the ankle joint of the prosthetic. Her smile fades, lips pressing together as she considers her words. “As a cyborg, there are small gestures and big gestures. People who talk to me and treat me like a human… those are small gestures.” She shakes her head. “Saving my life and going after the man who destroyed half of me? Those are pretty grand gestures.” She swallows. “Thank you, Oliver.”

For a long moment, Oliver can say nothing as Felicity oils the joints on her prosthetic limb. He can’t comprehend how a person so… _amazing_ can’t see herself as anything more than the wiring she didn’t even choose. It draws him back to the way she talked about non-mods earlier—as _humans_. Her distinctions are _cyborg_ and _human_ , black and white; if she identifies as one, she won’t see herself as the other.

This time, he can’t let it go. “You don’t have to thank me for treating you like a human being, Felicity,” Oliver says in a quiet tone. He shakes his head. “Maybe people have said you were less than human for so long that you’ve started to believe it.”

“I—” she starts to protest. The words die on her lips as her eyes widen. The truth of his words settles into her expression. Judging by it, she doesn’t like the conclusion.

“They’re wrong,” Oliver insists with all the conviction within him. He needs her to understand this, to never doubt it again. “You’re a survivor. The world takes from you, and you endured anyway.” Flashes of the past five years play through his head. “There are worse things you could have done to survive than replace missing limbs with cybernetics.” He swallows hard before meeting her eyes. “I’ve done most of them.”

She’s already shaking her head by the time he finishes. “No one has the right to judge you for the things that happened on the island, Oliver,” she insists hotly. “Not even you.” A smile graces her lips. “Your experiences made you into the person you are today,” she quotes back to him. “Despite thinking I won’t recognize him in green leather… he’s kind of wonderful.”

Oliver shakes his head before warning her, “I’m not a good person, Felicity.”

Felicity rises in her seat. “Oliver, you spend your nights rounding up the criminals in the city that the police won’t stop. You take on the worst of humanity for no reason than to help others.” She throws her arm out, gesturing vaguely. “You’ve freed enough cyborgs in this city that you’ve become a symbol of their revolution.” Her head tilts to the side. “Even if you _weren’t_ a good person, it sounds like you’re on your way to becoming one.”

Unable to form a coherent sentence, Oliver just stares at her for a long moment. “Thank you,” he manages after far too long.

Instead of replying, Felicity just smiles as she starts inserting wires from her leg into their proper ports. Oliver finds something fascinating about the parts on the table. “You don’t have to look away,” she says with a laugh in her voice. “I always wear shorts under my dresses—I spend too much time under desks and starships not to.”

When he looks over to her, she’s still clipping wires into the attachment site, just inches below her hip. There have to be at least ten cables, all different colors. She seems to know where they all go, almost without thought.

As she tries to lock the prosthetic back in place, the wires hamper her. They’re too long to fit in properly. Oliver rises from the stool. “Can I help?” he offers.

Her tongue sticks out as she tries to poke the cables back in, but to no avail. “I think so,” she admits after a moment. “These two parts lock in on a track around the edge. If you can guide them in, I can get the wires tucked in.” She frowns, glancing around her. “I used to have a reel so I could wrap the cables up. I don’t know where it went.”

“Hardly surprising in this mess,” he can’t help but retort.

With a false stern expression, she points an index finger at her thigh. “Shut up and get down there,” Felicity snaps.

Oliver can only blink as his brain stops all coherent thought. “By which I mean I need you to put my leg back in place,” she allows a moment later. Her nose crinkles adorably. “Not anything else.”

He almost asks if she’s sure, but he doesn’t want to embarrass her again. Instead, he kneels in front of her, placing his hands on the prosthetic. The metal is strangely cold; he’s never noticed her hands this cool before. Shaking his head, he guides the metal together, noticing the track Felicity mentioned. As he does so, Felicity stuffs the wiring into a hollow space in the center. Finally, it locks into place.

She adjusts the limb slightly before slipping a massive bolt into a hole in her inner thigh. It locks with a piece on the other side, which she uses a spanner to tighten. After she’s satisfied with her handiwork, she reaches into the panel in the back of her neck and plugs in a wire. The metal warms under his touch, probably from the electricity flowing through it.

Almost immediately, he releases his grip on her. It might have been a prosthetic limb before, but now, it’s part of her. Touching it now isn’t handling a limb; his hands are on her thigh—uncomfortably high for both of them.

When he glances up, her gaze is far away. It used to concern him before, but now he realizes her attention is on her retina display. As she concentrates on it, Oliver can’t resist sliding her left foot back into her shoe.

“Now I know how Cinderella felt,” Felicity mutters to herself as Oliver rises to his feet again. He only stares at her, and she blinks several times. “It’s a fairy tale. Cinderella, a commoner, goes to the ball and dances with Prince Charming and they fall in love. She has to leave early and she stumbles, leaving her shoe on the staircase. He finds her after the ball by having every woman in the city try the shoe on.”

Felicity laughs at herself. “Not that I think I’m fairy tale material—or that you’re Prince Charming, for that matter.” She snorts. “I’d be more likely to trip, break my wiring, and leave my foot on the staircase.”

“It would be easier for your prince to find you, though,” Oliver points out with a smile.

Rolling her eyes, Felicity replies, “Like it would be possible for someone without an advanced degree in cybernetics to fall in love with me.” She makes a face. “I told you before, complex wiring is hardly a turn on for most people.” She sighs. “And when it is, they fall in love with my wiring and not me.” Looking away, she shakes her head. “Curse of being a cyborg: everyone sees my wiring, but no one ever sees _me._ ”

“I see you just fine,” he can’t help but assure her.

Smiling, Felicity waves him off. “You’ve been removed from society for five years. You don’t count.”

“Three,” Oliver hears himself correct. Felicity’s eyes snap up to his. He didn’t mean to say that, but he has to live with the slip now, and she’s proved to be a sympathetic listener so far. “I’ve been removed from society for three years.”

Though her eyebrows rise, she only shrugs. “My point is that you’ve been allowed to develop your opinions about cyborgs free from influence.” Her head tilts to the side. “For the sake of this conversation, you’re as much a freak as I am.”

Before she can rethink her words and apologize, Oliver assures her, “At least I’m in good company.”

Smiling, Felicity rises from her chair. Her left knee bends at a strange angle, causing her to crumple. Oliver catches her easily, arms winding around her waist and pulling her into him.

Eyes wide and mouth parted, she’s beautiful. It shouldn’t be a revelation to him, but it is: Felicity Smoak is impossibly lovely. He’s always recognized her wonderful personality, but she’s also beautiful in a more aesthetic sense. Her cybernetics don’t seem to take away from it, instead adding a unique quality to her beauty.

The thing that makes her stunning, however, is her complete obliviousness to all of it. “Sorry,” she blurts, a little breathless. Oliver is, too, but for different reasons. “I guess my leg hasn’t finished recalibrating yet.”

Unable to find his voice, he stares at her a moment longer. She doesn’t seem uncomfortable in his arms, but he releases her anyway. Being this close to Felicity for too long is dangerous for both of them. Mostly him.

His portcom goes off again before he can do anything stupid. Oliver pulls it out of his pocket to stare at it. “Tommy is outside,” he informs Felicity. “Is it okay if I let him in?”

When she nods, it draws his attention back to the oil smudge on her forehead. Grinning, he tilts her head upward. When her breath catches, he tries his best to ignore it, instead swiping his thumb along the line of the dark smear. “You had an oil streak,” he explains in a quiet tone.

“Thanks,” she practically whispers.

Oliver hears her heels click behind him as he exits the workshop, but she doesn’t follow him out into the lobby. As he unlocks the main door, he turns to find her leaning against the doorway to the workshop.

As soon as he throws the door open, Tommy is there with styrofoam boxes and a drink tray. “Hey, Ollie,” he greets with a smile. “This is kind of a weird place to meet.” He scoffs. “Since when do you give a damn about technology repair?”

“I don’t,” he admits honestly, taking the tray of drinks from his best friend. “But a friend of mine happens to live upstairs.” He places the drink tray on the dark coffee table in front of the wraparound, green sofa.

Tommy sets the food next to it, turning away from the workshop door. “You never did say,” he starts. “Who is your friend?” As he asks, Oliver walks toward Felicity.

He motions Felicity over. She takes three tentative steps before stopping, and Oliver shakes his head. Slowly, he reaches out to take her hand. It just happens to be the left, the chrome gleaming in the light put out by the banker’s lamp at the front desk.

“Tommy, this is Felicity Smoak,” Oliver introduces, hand moving to the small of her back. “Felicity, Tommy Merlyn.”

Turning, Tommy sees her for the first time. Oliver watches carefully as his best friend’s eyes rake over her, taking in the glasses, the dress, the two very obvious titanium limbs. Felicity stands a little straighter.

Though his eyes widen, he doesn’t even hesitate. Tommy steps forward, extending a hand. “Hey, nice to meet you,” he greets with a smile. “I take it this is your place?”

Felicity shakes his hand, nodding with a smile. “Proprietor of this fine establishment,” she agrees with a roll of her eyes. “It was my dad’s. His father’s before his.” She waves a hand. “You get the point—sexist family legacy. It’s a shame my dad didn’t have a son to leave it to.”

After turning his grin on Oliver in approval, Tommy’s attention centers on Felicity. “And look at you, turning it into a powerful force for feminism and cyborg rights,” he points out. His eyes flick to Oliver again. “I guess that’s something the two of you have in common.”

“I just talk about cyborg rights,” she says with a shrug. “Oliver is the one actually doing something about it–and I don’t just mean putting arrows in people.” When Tommy gapes between the other two, Felicity waves a hand. “Please. It took me two seconds to figure out Oliver was growling at me in green leather.” She taps her temple. “Didn’t even need my retina display.”

“It took _you_ longer to figure it out,” Oliver says to Tommy with a smile.

“Did he throw you the terrible lies, too?” Felicity asks.

Tommy answers, “All the time.” He points to Oliver. “Worst liar on the planet. I can’t understand how he managed to keep this a secret for so long.”

“He flashes that fake smile and it makes everyone’s brains short-circuit,” Felicity explains. It makes Oliver laugh, and she points at his face. “That one. I don’t care if you’re attracted to men or not—that smile is oxygen-depriving. Makes people make stupid decisions.” She smirks. “Especially drunk women.”

“Does it work on you?” Oliver can’t help but ask.

“Of course,” she replies without missing a beat. “Your charms are powerful, and I’m only human.” She inclines her head. “Well, partially, anyway, but most of my brain is still biology.” She motions to the table. “I’m going to go get some silverware before my stomach starts growling—that smells delicious.”

As soon as she disappears up the stairs, Tommy turns to Oliver. “Your mom is going to have a coronary when she finds out about this,” he says in a low voice.

Oliver is all too aware of his mother’s prejudices. “I know.”

“She’s cute, though,” Tommy points out. Something about the words make the smile slip off Oliver’s face. “I mean, she’s not your normal type, but whatever makes you happy, my friend.” He makes a face. “I’m not sure I could handle that cold metal up against me, but to each their own, right?”

Frowning, Oliver snaps, “I’m not sleeping with her, Tommy.”

Tommy’s eyebrows knit together, as though that’s impossible. “What’s the angle, then?”

“No angle,” Oliver growls. “She’s my friend. I like her.”

As if it all makes sense, Tommy nods to himself. “Oh, you _like_ her,” is his reply, grinning. Oliver toys with the idea of snapping his friend’s neck, but decides a dead body on her floor might upset Felicity. “Sorry I just assumed this was a friends-with-benefits thing.”

Patting Oliver’s shoulder, Tommy continues, “You told me you were worried how you could ever be with someone and be the Arrow. You couldn’t let anyone in on that part of your life.” He nods toward the stairs. “She knows, and it hasn’t scared her off.”

Before that thought can take hold, Oliver dismisses it. Even if Felicity was unlucky enough to fall for him, she hasn’t seen his operation. She doesn’t really know who he is under the hood or understand how dangerous he can be. It’s better if he pushes her away entirely, but he’s not sure he can anymore.

“I can’t talk about this now,” Oliver finally replies, as Felicity descends the stairs.

“Fine,” Tommy agrees, “but you and I are going to finish this conversation later.”


End file.
